Harry Potter And The Black Flame Book
by Crowcity
Summary: Harry's school has been closed. Since the death of their beloved Headmaster, Harry has nothing more to do with the wizarding world, until he receives a mysterious letter about the next horcrux.


Harry Potter had never fit in. He had always been unusual in his own ways, and was never accepted by his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and their greedy son Dudley. It was not until this time 6 years ago had he ever felt like he had been accepted. A giant by the name of Hagrid had told him that he was a wizard, and that he was to enroll in a school for people like him. Harry had finally felt he knew where he belonged, and after all these years of something he had almost taken for granted, it had surely been taken from him.

He stared up at the ceiling of his room in the house he, to his dismay, had grown up in. He hadn't been out of his bed the whole day, and as the sun slowly set to a crisp, yellow scatter in the sky, Harry rolled over to the newspaper titled

_The Daily Prophet_ spread across his floor. Harry must've read it eleven times, but still didn't wish to believe what was written on the front page:

**Hogwarts No More**

**As of July 1st, Hogwarts had it's very last day as an open school of witchcraft and wizardry, a sad day indeed. Albus Dumbledore, Former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and until very recently Headmaster of Hogwarts (see page 6 for full biography and memorial) was murdered. A murder that was just recently discovered, by way of the third Unforgivable Curse. The Avada Kedavra curse.**

**None are known to have survived the curse, or left with a mark from it, all except for one. Harry Potter, age 16, formerly known as 'The Boy Who Lived', and currently nicknamed 'The Chosen One', was not only in the Hogwarts grounds on the night of the attack (by what has been reported as seven or so Death Eaters, for full details see page 2), but was a witness to the famous Headmaster's death. Though Harry Potter has refused to be interviewed about the whole situation, and who's whereabouts are currently unreachable in the Muggle world, this newspaper has only the whim that Albus Dumbledore was killed by none other than Lord Voldemort himself.**

**The Dark Mark was reportedly seen over the school's highest tower that night (witnessed by many Hogsmeade villagers), and it would only assure than no good would soon follow.**

**Professor M. Mcgonagall, long time Transfigurations teacher for the school, and second-in-comand was indeed the obvious choice for the new Headmaster position, but after 3 weeks of debate and weary over the fate of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry, Minister For Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, along with several other Ministry electives publicly announced that the school, 'home' to many Englander's children, would be closed, and eventually, demolished.**

**"It has come to our attention that the school has unsafe potentials, and seeing as Death Eaters gained easy access (how, still unknown), and there is little doubt that it could not just as easily be done again, especially with such rare people, the students, that is, in unsafe territory." says Rufus, who assures that when following "Protecting Your Home Against Dark Forces, a pamphlet concocted by the Ministry (being distributed and updated weekly), "you and your families members may sleep safely." Scrimgeour assures.**

The front cover showed a picture of a lion-like man speaking to a very large, unsteady crowd with his own wand pointed at his neck. Scrimgeour would occasionally shake his head, turn back around to look at his fellow co-workers and smile sadly, but Harry knew that Scrimgeour was not completely upset about the situation. The previous year the Minister had tried to persuade Harry into representing the Ministry as if they were doing a good job and making strong progress in the Death Eater breakouts, but Harry knew what was happening and had refused.

The ministry had not been doing so well, and many were beginning to notice. A small headline was spread across another page, "Rufus Scrimgeour: Any Better Than Old Fudge?". Harry blinked, his dried vision blurred without his glasses that lay on his bedside table, but he had already read the article so much he might as well have wrote it.

Harry had to only skim the article before he had found its biggest mistake. _The Daily Prophet_ was usually riddled with mishaps, but Harry could not stand that now the wizarding world blamed the most likely, but untrue preson for Dumbledore's death. Harry had been there, and had seen it with his own eyes, stupefied, and unable to do anything as the treacherous Snape used the Avada Kedavra curse and killed his Headmaster, a memory Harry knew he would never forget.

There was a soft knock on the door. Harry lolled over on his back to see who it was. His Aunt Petunia's head appeared behind the door with a meek expression: she, along with his uncle and cousin, had been avoiding him since he had arrived home three weeks ago.

"Are you hungry?" she said in a more mildly interested, rather than kind voice.

"No," Harry replied after a few silent moments of processing this in his brain. Was she actually making a nice gesture?

"Oh, well," she stepped inside the room, still with an unexpressed face, "There's some food on the counter if your interested. We already ate."

Harry was not surprised at this; He hadn't had a meal with the three since his first night back when his Uncle Vernon openly expressed his overjoy that Harry was to be in his house only another summer. Harry instead had been sneaking food at night or when the Dursley's were away.

"We're going out to a show, so we won't be here, and we won't back until about 8 o'clock."

Harry looked over at his clock sitting atop his bedside table with his glasses: It was only 6.

"Sure." Harry said dismissively, and looked back to the ceiling, laying on his backside.

"Well...goodnight." She backed out slowly and closed the door behind her as she left the room.

_Was was that?_ Harry thought, shaking head a little and shifting so that he was now sitting on the side of the bed. Not one of them had said two words to Harry since his homecoming, and now she breaks the silence to tell him they're going to a show? It didn't quite add up, but as Harry leaned to his side to see the SUV in the Dursley's driveway pull out onto the street, and drive off into the darkening distance, Harry thought maybe there was more to it.

He stood up, drew the stray bangs out of his eyes, and headed down to the dark staircase, where all but one light had been turned off. The dim light from a small bulb in the living room led Harry to the red-lit kitchen, filling up with glazed, setting sunlight. Harry looked around at the counters before him. Nothing. Only but a single spoon and a glass of half-frozen milk lay before him.

Was this some kind of joke? He picked up the spoon, and the icy glass of milk. Was he to use the spoon for the milk? Harry prodded the milk. It was hard, but with soft spots in its frozen form, and a thin layer of completely thawed milk around it.

_I don't get it. What was the purpose of this?_ Harry looked around for something else that might justify this oddity, until his eye caught a small brown lump at the very end of the counter, somewhat hidden behind a microwave. He walked over to it and pulled it out.

"What?" Harry said aloud, without thinking on it.

Harry was holding a half-sized cake, covered a layer of chocolate icing and nothing more. He stood there for a moment, almost in shock.

The Dursleys, or at least Aunt Petunia...had made him a birthday cake? This was to be his first real birthday gift from the family, and so late in all the time they'd housed him?

Harry stood there, bewildered at the baked good until her realized how hungry he was, and digging the small spoon into the cake, and bringing it to his lips, Harry realized also why they had favored him after so long. This was to be his very last time at The Dursley's, and after this summer the four of them all knew they would never meet again.


End file.
